An Unusual Proposal
by Lady of Inspiration
Summary: Asexual!Sherlock/Straight!John, pre-romance, no slash. Complicated I know. The lengths John Watson will go For Sherlock Holmes.


A/N- I'm a long time reader, but this is my first attempt at writing, so please be kind. That being said, any response is welcome.

This is going to be Sherlock and John romance but without the slash, it's my favourite type of relationship for the boys. This hasn't been beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Enjoy.

**An Unusual Proposal**

"I need you to marry me."

John glanced over the top of his paper at the pale genius. Clad in his usual white shirt and black trousers, the doctor raised an eyebrow at the time on the kitchen oven. 10:23. Sherlock was up early for a non-case day, and he was dressed rather than wearing that ridiculous silk blue dressing gown (better than a bed sheet though). On the other hand, something must have come up, since it was a little strange for the detective to even acknowledge his presence first thing, let alone begin the day with a proposal.

"Sorry, I've got a cover shift at the surgery in fifteen minutes." John really didn't think such a ridiculous proposal deserved a serious answer.

Sherlock ignored his flatmate and opened the fridge door, and rummaged around, apparently looking for something between the salad cream and the bacon.

"Although technically it's a civil partnership, Mycroft still hasn't managed to make same sex marriages legal. Too busy stealing all the chocolate digestives."

John decided to overlook both the insult and the veiled reference to the elder Holmes sexuality in favour of putting the kettle on. Though it did remind him to add biscuits to the shopping list. He also made a mental note to replace the milk they (Sherlock) had stolen from Mrs Hudson yesterday.

"I've got enough time to make you a cup of tea if you want. We might even have some bread for toast."

Sherlock let out a triumphant grunt and withdrew from the fridge holding a clear food bag containing what looked suspiciously like pickled fingers.

"Although I draw the line at marinated body parts before work."

"We could fake it, of course, but the registrars probably in on it. Have to be really. Can't be a coincidence that they all come from the same registrar's office, but which one of the officials is trickier…"

John tried not to gag as Sherlock placed one of the fingers onto a dinner plate with the BBQ tongs. Why the hell they had BBQ tongs with no BBQ was a question John pondered silently as he intercepted Sherlock's hand before he put the tongs on the kitchen table. He removed the utensil and placed it in the sink before adding a liberal amount of anti-bacterial cleaner. John went back to making tea, taking no notice of Sherlock's mutterings.

"… better to make it as authentic as possible, which means actually getting _married_."

John set both mugs of tea on the table; turned to address the detective who said 'married' like it was the most disgusting thing he had ever heard but caught sight of the finger instead. It seemed to be oozing black treacle. John mentally crossed sausages off the shopping list.

"I do not have the stomach for this first thing."

"Fine, I'll book the registrars for tomorrow afternoon. Two shouldn't be too early. Might have to make sure they have an opening," Sherlock smirked and picked up the paper John had discarded ", shouldn't be too difficult, their computer firewalls are pathetic. Your laptop has better security."

John rolled his eyes, stomach still feeling a little delicate. At least his breakfast wasn't still trying to make a reappearance.

"Only because you've been playing around with it again. I can barely get on it any more. Far too secure if you ask me."

"Good job I'm not asking then," Sherlock reached over to grab his mug of tea and took several gulps, never taking his eyes of the paper. Obituary page, John guessed, half-heartedly hoping the detective burnt his tongue with the still hot tea. Rude git.

"You do realise I haven't agreed to this."

John's view of the taller man was obscured by the Daily Guardian but John was fairly certain Sherlock was smiling.

"No, but you will." John didn't doubt it, but he still liked to pretend he had free will and so put up a token defence, even if it did mean being late for work.

"Please explain to me why I, a happy lifelong male heterosexual, am going to agree to marry my also male flatmate, whom I barely like some days and definitely have no romantic interest in at all, despite what the rest of the world seems to think?"

John took a second to breathe, when his eyes were once again drawn to the finger in-between him and Sherlock.

"Especially when said flatmate proposes over a dismembered finger and is it meant to be steaming like that?"

Sherlock finally tore his eyes away from the paper to look at the vapour coming from the digit. John saw that he was definitely smiling, although the doctor wasn't sure whether it was because of his rant or the reactions of the pickled finger.

"Start worrying when it starts to eat through the table. And," turning to face the doctor for the first time, grin firmly in place "you'll marry me because it's going to save lives and I know how much you love doing that. At least this way you don't have to invade Afghanistan. Even a man of your stunted intellect should be capable of signing a piece of paper."

John started to retort how Afghanistan seemed a much better option at the moment, but he really didn't want to make light of his time in the east, or what the people still out there were going through. He shrugged off the 'stunned intellect', which was tame by Sherlock's standards.

"Besides," Sherlock continued, picking up a pen and circling a section in the paper that looked to John like the obituary for an eighty-four year old in Swindon, "this time if I get shot or stabbed or both, the hospital won't call Mycroft as my next of kin. Not sure I could stand the superior smirk without shoving his umbrella somewhere particularly painful. And I particularly don't want the earful from Mummy."

"The hospital will call Mycroft if you're new husbands the one who did the shooting or the stabbing or both," John muttered under his breath, although Sherlock heard enough to glare absentmindedly in the doctor's direction before taking a knife to the finger.

"Don't you have to go stick plasters on people and reassure them that they're not going to die from the sniffles?"

"Am I going to have a kitchen table to come home to?"

"Depends."

"On…?"

"Whether we have any lemon juice"

"Top cupboard, left of the cooker."

"Ah," Sherlock seemed to look off into the distance for a moment and John wondered for the thousandth time what happened in that wonderful if slightly scary brain of his, "then probably not."

John sighed, the genius' answer not surprising him.

"Right then, Chinese for dinner. Have you seen my keys?"

"Indian, we had Chinese twice last week. Yes"

"You won't eat Indian. Where?"

"I like Korma. Don't know."

John paused with one arm in his jacket, the other in his jean pocket vainly searching for the absent keys. Sherlock was still poking and prodding at the finger which had gone decidedly squishy. John felt ill again.

"No you don't, you gave the last lot to Mrs Hudson's cat. It was sick for a week and she added the vet bills onto our rent. What do you mean you don't know where my keys are? You just said you'd seen them."

"How was I supposed to know the cat would react badly to coconut? I said I'd seen them. I don't know where or when. Hardly information worth storing."

"For God's sake," John huffed resuming the hunt for his keys. "Common sense, a commodity you seem to be severely lacking, would tell you that cats and korma don't mix."

"Common sense I have always found by definition, to be for the common, a highly overrated category."

"You don't say, haha," John grabbed his keys off the top shelf of the fridge, in between the salad cream and the bacon and headed for the front door but paused before he opened it.

"Do we need rings?"

"Just cheap ones. We need to make it look authentic."

John nodded, very carefully not thinking of the two rings upstairs in the top draw of his bedside table. Nothing cheaper than ones you didn't have to buy, but those rings meant something. They shouldn't be used in a fake marriage.

"And you'll need a new suit."

John nodded absentmindedly before pausing and turning to face Sherlock. "Wait? What?"

Sherlock looked at John with a fairly healthy dose of incredulity.

"I am not marrying someone wearing a suit they've had since university."

"Why not? It's still in good nick and it still fits." John was quite proud of this.

Sherlock placed a sample of the finger under his microscope.

"I have standards John."

"It's a fake marriage Sherlock."

"John…"

Sherlock stood up and finished the last of his now stone cold tea. At least he's not fussy about the temperature of tea, thought John as he mentally worked out how much he could spend on his new suit. He was going to be very late for work.

Disclaimer- Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD, Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I'm just borrowing him.

Please Read and Review.


End file.
